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He lost his tone,
became like bone
cold, stiff,
shivering, starving for heat.

He turned boneless,
laughed like a funny bone
until laughter wasn’t funny anymore.

Next moment
helpless
he saw his girlfriend
in a Ferrari
without him,
with someone else.

And oh, he decided….

I will buy a yacht.
Dreamed stupid-big dreams,
dreams too tall for his pocket.

He fell back into the hole
the same one he dug,
did wrong things
to look right
in front of the one he chose.

No guidelines, no map
only hope,
and hope is a dangerous drug.

Maybe if you’re lucky
the world throws you one coin,
one chance.

Tell me
is it a crime to die poor?
or just another story
nobody wants to hear?